though the stars walk backward
by AndAwayWeGo
Summary: "The first time it happens is your senior year." Four times Quinn doesn't make sense, and one time she does. Faberry.


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing of value. And because of this, am poorer than I would like. Thus, these characters are not mine.

**A/N: **I guess this is an apology for my usual angst. So. I hope you like it. It's AU after _On My Way _and moves on past college.

So. There you go.

…

_though the stars walk backward_

..

The first time it happens is your senior year.

In Quinn's defense, she's pretty whacked out on painkillers and you're watching bad reality TV because it's Saturday, so you don't have to be at school.

In your guilt, you'd been spending every spare moment at the hospital—like time and effort can make up for the swelling around her spinal chord, can give her back the use of her legs.

The nurses know you by name—every shift, actually, which is quite possibly sad.

Your phone is used to being turned off when you're not at school because Finn likes to text you and leave whiny voicemails, complaining that he never sees you anymore.

Which is ridiculous because _Quinn can't walk_.

And she has a broken leg, wrist, five ribs. The list goes on.

Judy appreciates the company more than she'll say because she has a chance to go home and sleep or shower or eat, because someone who loves her daughter is with her. Santana and Brittany are around a lot, too, but they have cheerleading practice and you don't, so you're around more often.

Anyway, you're sitting in your usual chair by Quinn's bed, holding her hand and she's dozing sleepily in the bed, eyes half-lidded and glued to the TV in the corner of the room.

She's beautiful, you think. Even with cuts and stitches all over. Even when her eyes are bloodshot and bruised.

Your free hand, which is resting in your lap, lifts and moves over to her legs. You rest it on her thigh, stroking the soft blanket draped across it.

You're curious, so you press your fingers in, gently, and say, "Can you feel that?" in a whisper because you're not sure if that's okay to ask.

Quinn doesn't answer for a few minutes, so you think it might not be.

But then she says, "It's weird…because they don't really like people."

You frown, confused. Very confused. "What?"

She looks at you and says, "My cats."

You're not sure what to say to that, so you burst out laughing because it's the lightest you've felt in weeks. "Okay, sweetie," you say after you stop, because she's tired and hurt and on a lot of painkillers, so you shouldn't laugh at her, but you can't help it.

You lean over and kiss her forehead—the part that isn't stitched up. "You can sleep, hon."

She nods and closes her eyes.

She's fast asleep not five minutes later.

.

You tell her about it a few weeks later, when you're sitting in the study by the kitchen in her house that was converted into her temporary room.

She laughs for a while and you ask if she knows why she was talking about her cats, one of which is sleeping on your lap.

"Remember when we practiced our duet in my room last year?" she asks and you nod. "Simba and Prim loved you."

That you do remember. They'd snuck into her room while you were improving her breathing technique and spent the entirety of the practice rubbing against your legs and purring.

"They just usually run from everyone. I thought it was weird at the time," she explains. "I guess I thought, because I was thinking about it, that we were talking about it."

It still doesn't make sense, but you both laugh anyway.

..

There's no excuse the next time, because Quinn isn't on morphine or anything of the sort.

She is half asleep, though, on the futon in yours and Kurt's apartment.

Kurt is in bed already because it's late.

It's the second time Quinn has used her metro pass to visit you and it's late October, so the apartment is pretty cold and she's bundled in a blanket and laying with her head in your lap.

You're watching _The Brady Bunch_ because you've never seen it and she'd been shocked and a little angry when you'd said that, so she'd brought the first season with her.

She's been doing that since you became friends. Apparently you're less cultured in film and television than you thought you were, but you guess that makes sense since you'd grown up on a healthy diet of movie musicals and _Winnie the Pooh_.

You've already seen about every classic horror movie ever, because Quinn loves them for some reason and you thought you wouldn't, but she'd made you laugh while watching them, so it hadn't been all that bad.

But you're just sitting there, watching the Brady family, plus Alice, hug Tiger, when Quinn smacks her lips sleepily, laughs, and says, "His suit, man."

You barely have time to understand what she's said before she's sitting up and saying, "Nope."

You frown, and then laugh when you realize that she's done it again. "What did you say?"

She shakes her head and leans back against the couch, pulling the blanket off of her. "Nope," she repeats. "It didn't make sense."

"Yeah, but what did you say?"  
>She looks down, embarrassed, then repeats what she'd said and you're laughing because, what does that even mean?<p>

You ask as much.

She shrugs. "For some reason, I thought we were talking about Loomis from _Halloween_," she tells you. "And I was picturing him in this bright, orange suit even though that's literally not a costume he wears."

You laugh again, somewhat hysterically.

She covers her face with the pillow on the other side of the futon.

"Your brain is stranger than I thought it would, Quinn Fabray," you tell her, when you catch your breath.

"I know," she groans from behind the pillow.

You're still laughing, but more calmly, and you pull the pillow away and look at her. "I like it."

You kiss her cheek and, it's dark, but you think she blushes a little.

"I'm glad someone does."

You grin. "Let's go to bed, weirdo."

She agrees and you turn off the TV and lead the way.

When you wake up, she's still asleep—half on top of you—and you lay there waiting to see if she says anything else from subconscious conversations.

She doesn't, but you still can't bring yourself to move until after she wakes up.

..

Quinn moves off campus your junior year. She's been looking for apartments casually since the summer after freshman year, and, finally, got one.

You've been officially dating for well over a year now, which had been a shock to your family, her mother, and most of your glee friends.

The only people who hadn't been surprised had been you, Quinn, Santana, Kurt, and Brittany—the last three admitted to having known for the better part of high school because of your "crazy sexual tension."

Judy had been wonderful when Quinn had told her about your relationship and had welcomed you into the family with open arms, which was far more than you'd expected—though both you and Quinn now know that she is pretty much the exact opposite of her ex-husband.

By far, Finn had been the most shocked—definitely the most hurt. He'd raged for a few months and then left you an apologetic voicemail you'd waited a few days to return.

So, the first time you go to visit her, you're excited, because you don't have to worry about a roommate walking in at an awkward time, and, also, importantly, getting her all to yourself for the entirety of your visit.

Quinn picks you up and smiles a lot when she leads you to her apartment, opening the door and letting you in.

It's about a third of the size of yours and Kurt's apartment, but it's filled with her books, and she has all of her movies and TV shows lined up by her TV and Judy brought Simba, because he'd been dealing with severe separation anxiety since Quinn left and he was more attached to her than Prim, so it wasn't all that big of a deal.

He's almost as excited to see you as Quinn and rubs against your legs when you enter.

"Hey, there, little dude," you greet, leaning down to scratch him between his ears.

"Do you like it?" Quinn asks, nervously.

You turn around and kiss her. "It's wonderful."

She grins and wraps her arms around your waist before giving you the "grand" tour that takes about 20 seconds to finish.

It's only been two weeks since you've seen her—she'd spent the majority of her summer in New York with you—but you missed her so much that you've only been in the apartment for five minutes before you're pushing her into her bed and climbing on top of her.

She laughs and says, "Looks like someone missed me," but kisses you back with as much fervor, shedding your clothes reverently and dropping them onto the linoleum made to look like wood.

When you're tired, finished, and naked under her sheets about forty or so minutes later, she's already half-asleep, lying on her back.

You're curled into her side with a hand on her stomach, and her breathing is evening out.

"Hey," you say, pressing a kiss into her shoulder. "I love you."

You're trying to draw her back in because you'll only have one other full day with her before you have to go back for classes and you don't want to sleep.

She says nothing, just huffs a little.

You look up at the ceiling and, after a few minutes, you feel her stir and turn to look at her.

With her eyes still closed, she quietly says, "Where _are _we?"

You laugh.

You laugh a lot.

She opens her eyes and stares at you, confused, but you still keep laughing.

Because she hasn't done that in almost two years, and you weren't expecting it, and she's in her own apartment, so she should know where she is, but apparently her subconscious has no idea.

"You just asked where we were," you tell her, when you finally stop laughing enough to speak.

She still looks confused as to why that's so funny.

"And you just sounded like a senile, old woman and we're in _your _apartment, Quinn," you explain.

She gets it now and laughs a little.

"Seriously, why do I do that?" she asks.

You shrug.

She frowns.

"I think it's cute, love," you tell her, leaning over to kiss her.

She smiles and takes that as her cue to roll over on top of you.

You don't get to sleep for a while after that.

..

It's not exactly surprising when Quinn moves to New York after graduation. You're in the ensemble of an actual, real _show on Broadway_ and she has a job lined up as an English teacher at a school in New Jersey, and it's a bit of a commute, but it's worth it.

You look for apartments together—you'll be leaving the home you've made with Kurt to him and Blaine, and you'll miss him but you have Quinn and he has Blaine and that's more than enough.

After a few weeks of searching, you find one and moving in takes a few days.

She starts work and you start rehearsals.

She's home when you get back and you make dinner together, make love in the bed you share, fall asleep with her.

It's wonderful.

A month or so after you've settled into a routine, you're still in awe of the fact that you don't have to worry about leaving her in the morning in favor of a two-hour train ride. You're not sure how long it will be before that wears off.

You're lying in bed beside her and she's on her side, facing you.

She's not asleep yet, not completely. She's in that half-asleep state, and you watch her, waiting to see if she says something strange from a conversation you're not having.

You're rewarded when she says, loudly and clearly, "Where do you live?"

You burst out laughing and she wakes all the way up, as she always does—has you repeat what she'd said and joins in your laughter.

"I live with you, dork," you tell her.

She wraps her arms around you and laughs. "Yeah. Yeah, you do."

..

The fifth time it happens, it doesn't really happen.

You're sitting on your childhood bed with her, watching a movie and she has her head on your shoulder.

You think she must be asleep so you're careful not to make any sudden movements.

You're back in Lima for Thanksgiving and it's been about six months since you've been living together. She'd spent the previous night with her mother, but you get her tonight, and tomorrow Judy is coming over for Thanksgiving dinner because, in your absence, she'd, unsurprisingly, become best friends with your fathers.

But you're sitting there, minding your own business, when you hear Quinn say something like, "I can do the purple shark boogie."

You frown, instead of laughing like you usually do, because, even though she's said some strange things when she's half-asleep, none of them have been _that _strange.

But then she says, "Rach, would you…?"

You quirk an eyebrow. "Would I what?" you ask. "Do the purple shark boogie with you?"

She's quiet for a moment or two. Then, "Would you marry me?"

You do laugh then.

Well, you laugh while you're crying.

She sits up and smiles at you and holds out this little box with the most beautiful ring you could have wanted in it.

You push her shoulder playfully. "I knew you were faking, faker."  
>She laughs and she's crying too.<p>

You hug her tightly, kiss her over and over and take the box of her hand.

"Is that a yes, then?" she asks.

You pull away and roll your eyes. "Of course it is. Put the ring on me, already."

She does and you smile at it and kiss her some more because you can't stop crying.

"Are you sure you want to deal with my half-asleep, subconscious nonsense for the rest of your life?" she asks later, after you've stopped crying, but before you've stopped alternating between staring at the ring and kissing her.

You look at her and smile and say, "Absolutely."

..

_fin_

…

**title from e. e. cummings**


End file.
